


Dying Is Easy, Living Is Harder

by A_Canceled_Stamp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Tony, Injury, Major Character Injury, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sad with a Happy Ending, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Canceled_Stamp/pseuds/A_Canceled_Stamp
Summary: Steve’s eyes are open, glazed over and staring blankly at the sky, the red clouds above reflecting in them like the surface of a still lake. His uniform is torn, slashed and shredded, and where his skin is visible through the fabric his skin seems to be boiling, the way meat does when it’s being fried.The sizzling still hasn’t stopped, and Tony is going to throw up.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	Dying Is Easy, Living Is Harder

Steve’s blue eyes are open, glazed over and staring blankly at the sky, the red clouds above reflecting in them like the surface of a still lake. The Iron Gauntlet a crumpled, steaming mess enclosed around Steve’s right hand. Smoke is still rising from the burns on his arm, the side of his neck, his face, ascending toward the clouds above.

A tear escapes the corner of Steve’s eye and slips down toward his ear, a pale streak left in its wake. There's a steady stream of crimson that trickles from the corner of his open mouth, getting caught in his rugged beard, leaving it red and glistening. His uniform is torn, slashed and shredded, and where his skin is visible through the fabric his skin seems to be boiling, the way meat does when it’s being fried. The cracked shield lays on the ground a few feet from Steve’s feet, covered in grime, soot and blood.

The sizzling still hasn’t stopped, and Tony is going to throw up.

He’s sitting on the uneven ground just a few feet away from Steve, his back pressed against a piece of metal which once used to be a battleship, a part of which is digging painfully into his back. Tony’s arm, which he’s cradling closely to his body, is numb in a way that he feels he should be worried about. But in the end, all he finds himself able to do is suck hot air into his burning lungs, fight down the nausea that’s residing in his stomach, and stare at his friend in disbelief.

In the distance, the sound of people crying and shouting, whether it's in mourning or celebrating Tony doesn't know, echoes through the battlefield like the ghosts of the dead. Tony feels the searing hot wind caress his cheek, and blinks the dust out of his eyes. The sickening odor of burnt flesh fills his lungs, and it's all too much. He frantically grabs a part of the construction he’s leaning against with left hand, uses it to help him lean over to his left. He gags until his stomach is aching, until his vision goes blurry, until nothing comes up anymore. His hand loses its grip, and he collapses heavily against the metal again, gasping as pain shoots through his right arm.

He leans his head back against the metal, cradling his arm to his chest, swallowing around the sour taste in his mouth. His eyes land on Steve again, and it hits him that it can’t be real. Because this isn’t what is supposed to happen. Tony isn’t supposed to be here anymore.

_He’s supposed to be dead._

“ _Tony!_ ”

Tony blinks, and suddenly Pepper is in front of him.

Most of her armor is gone, retracted into the blue and silver chest piece that’s wrapped around her torso. Her hair is a mess, her face red and gleaming with sweat. She’s never looked more beautiful.

Pepper gingerly cups Tony’s face with her surprisingly cold hands, her eyes wide and concerned as she looks him over. Her shoulders visibly tense when something on his chest catches her attention, and she sucks in a quick breath.

“Tony”, she gasps, her face pale. “Oh my God, Tony. Your arm…”

Tony knows that there’s something wrong with his arm. His whole body is vibrating with the feeling of _wrong_ that shoots through him every time his arm so much as twitches. But still, a feeling of frustration washes over him, because why is Pepper asking him that when Steve is lying _right there, someone needs to help him—_

“ _Steve_ ”, Tony manages, and tries to glance over Pepper’s shoulder, “He needs help. You…someone needs to make sure that he’s…that he’s still…”

_Alive_.

The word gets caught somewhere deep in his throat, and a strangled noise escapes him instead.

Pepper gently presses her palm against Tony’s jaw, forcing him to look at her instead. Her eyes are piercingly blue in contrast to the dirt on her face.

“Tony, he's...I don’t think there’s anything we can—”

Tony shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “No. No, he’s right _there_ —”

Something hot trickles streams down his face, and he wipes at it, expecting to see his fingers come back red. They don’t.

Instead, his attention is caught by the state of his hand, and a new wave of nausea washes over him, leaving him breathless.

The skin on his hand resembles the surface of dried earth. Thick, red liquid oozes out from the deep cracks, and bleeding blisters riddles Bits of flaked, black skin hang loosely off his limb, black as soot. He can see the bone sticking out from his pinky and ring finger, as if the flesh has been pulled back to his knuckles. 

Jagged lightning-like shapes mark the back of his hand, looking like someone has gruesomely peeled off his skin, revealing the red, gleaming flesh underneath. The scars begin at the very tip of his fingers and run down toward his wrist, disappearing under the long sleeve of his black shirt. The black fabric itself is riddled with circular tears, the edges of which are glowing as if they’ve been caused by fire. Wherever his skin is on display through the holes, his skin is steaming, sizzling.

Sparks of electricity flashes from the stump where the Gauntlet used to be affixed to the rest of his armor.

Another scent of burnt flesh washes over Tony, and it suddenly hits him that the smell isn’t coming from Steve. It’s coming from _him_.

Tony’s somewhat aware of voices around him, hands on his back, fingers digging into his left wrist, but all he can focus on is the macabre limb that used to resemble his hand. As blood sluggishly seeps out between the flakes of dead skin, the numbness that was there a second ago fades, and a tingling feeling spreads through his fingers up toward his shoulder. As quickly as fire spreading through a row of houses, the throbbing becomes sharper and sharper with each beat of Tony’s heart.

Tony’s whole world suddenly tilts, and his stomach does an involuntary flip as he realizes he’s being lowered onto his back. He doesn’t have the time to protest as pressure is suddenly put around his right hand.

The pain is like a punch to the gut, forcing the breath out of Tony’s lungs, leaving his head spinning. He thinks he screams, feels it clawing at his throat, but all he hears is a distant, high-pitched ringing. Spots dance in front of him, moving in from the corner of his eyes, threatening to engulf his entire vision.

_I’m going to die_ , Tony thinks, feels his insides twist and his heart constrict at the thought. 

An image of Morgan flashes before him. He sees her running toward him with outstretched hands, dimples on her left cheek as she laughs. He sees Pepper sitting by the lake, a sunhat shielding her from the sun and a book in her lap. She looks ups him and smiles.

He sees Peter, dragging Tony up to his feet, his eyes wide and brown and _alive_ — 

And it hits him that he doesn’t want to die. Not now. Not when he’s been through so much and have so much to look forward to.

_I don’t want to go. Please. I don’t want to go._

Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure is gone. The pain is a horrible echo, its claws still sunken deeply into his arm, slowly pulling away. Air rushes into his lungs, and hot tears run down the side of his face, toward his ears. Someone is holding his uninjured hand, and he hears a murmur of voices somewhere above him, but he can’t see who they belong to. He realizes that he must’ve closed his eyes at some point.

It takes more effort than ever before to force his eyelids open, and Steve swims into view. He's lying beside Tony just a few feet away. His chest is as still as before, his eyes still staring aimlessly at the sky.

Tony follows his gaze, once again feeling numbness spread through his arm, but this time it doesn’t stop there, continuing across his chest, making it feel like he’s floating. He looks past the faceless shadows looming over him, and sees the red clouds floating thousands of feet above him.

A memory resurfaces, and he thinks about what Morgan once told him on a sunny June day; if you lie down on the ground and stare up at the clouds, you can get a peripheral at how deep and vast the ocean is. He gazes up at the clouds, imagines that he’s lying on the ocean floor, observing the surface above him. In that moment, he feels small. One insignificant soul in an ocean of billions.

Distantly, Tony wonders if this is what Steve felt. Before he stopped breathing.

Another wave of dizziness washes over him as a new shock of pain flares through his arm. Breathing is hard; it’s like someone’s tied a rope around his chest, tightening it every time his lungs contract. Dark spots appear in front of him, resembling black holes among the orange clouds. Tony thinks he hears someone calling his name, but it’s muffled and distant, as if it’s coming from the other side of one of the black holes. His whole body is numb, and it feels like he’s floating.

Then, the frightening feeling of falling soars through him, and darkness engulfs his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> I first planned for this to be a short angst-and-fluff-filled one-shot with IronDad as the main attraction, but then it all spiraled out of control. So after rewriting the fic at least ten times and reaching 12,000 words, I've decided to divide it into multiple chapters, just to avoid suffering through a mental breakdown. I'm a bit of a perfectionist, so I'll probably rewrite all the chapters, but I'll try to refrain from the temptation.
> 
> Hope this wasn't awfully out of character. And don't worry! There will be IronDad and SpiderSon fluff in the future. But first, there must be angst.


End file.
